The Door
by The Amazing McCormick
Summary: Companion to "The List". What happened after that night?


A/N: Tenth story!

This is a companion piece to "The List". I got a review for "The List", suggesting that some people might want answers.

This will not give you answers.

This is simply, well, a companion piece.

That's all.

* * *

><p>The blaring whine of my alarm clock jolts me from another dreamless sleep.<p>

I stare at the ceiling of my apartment, dreading the coming day's activities.

Then I remember; it's Monday. It's my day off.

Good for me.

Slowly and painfully, I drag myself out of bed and over to the kitchen area of my dingy apartment.

I hate this place.

When the League died, my financial security died with them. Without the money in my League account, I was forced to get a job, and fast. However, the traumatic experiences of that week left me… scarred.

And no one wants a mentally unstable psycho for an employee.

The few jobs I was able to secure were low-paying and degrading. I barely had enough to pay rent at the worst apartments on the market. I was lucky to get this place.

After I fix my morning coffee, I sit down in front of the TV. I never actually watch TV, not anymore. The TV is just a prop. If anyone were to somehow look into my apartment, they would see a normal person watching TV.

But I'm not.

Instead, I'm reliving those events, the time I spent in the Watchtower. Except now, it's the Ghosttower.

Ha. Ghosttower. You know, because no one lives there. I thought it was pretty clever.

My mind takes me to those events. The week of the murders. The weeks after that. That night.

* * *

><p>After that mysterious message appeared on my cell door, I had a mental breakdown. For the next day or two, I wouldn't eat, barely slept, and never moved from the place outside my door. After that, my body started working on autopilot. Without any conscious decision, I scrounged around in the kitchen, finding food that was left behind, calculating, figuring out how much I had to live on.<p>

For weeks, I was trapped in the Ghosttower, eating, sleeping, pretending I didn't just hallucinate that Batman was walking down the hall. The usual.

Then, I decided I needed to get back to earth.

It took me a few more weeks to figure out how to get the transporters up and running. Some of the power had shut off due to lack of maintenance.

Eventually, I did figure it out.

And I went home.

When I got back, there were a few things that surprised me. For one, you'd think that without anyone to fight them, the villains would have taken over the whole planet.

But no.

Apparently, all of the main baddies had "disappeared" weeks ago.

Which leads into the second surprise.

In the month and a half since the downfall of the League, people seemed to have forgotten about them.

Picking up the paper on the day I got back, I noticed that instead of the first page that I would have expected, news of the League investigation made page seven.

But maybe, it was for the best.

No one should have to go through even half of what I had to go through that week. The blood, the screams, the images, haunting your dreams, to the extent that the only refuge you can hope to seek is in the black nothingness of dreamless slumber-

* * *

><p>I'm jolted back to reality when the doorbell rings, signaling that the mail has arrived.<p>

I get up and open the door to find the regular bundle of mail at the doorstep, fluttering in the breeze.

My front door opens to the outside, which is probably why it was so cheap. Whenever a storm hits, I usually get hammered.

Shutting the door, I flip through the stack of envelopes. Bills, coupons, subscriptions, and a notice from my latest psychiatrist, with my name and the date of my first appointment with Dr. DeVito, which is apparently tomorrow.

Great.

After about a month of being back, I decided to go see a psychiatrist to deal with my "issues". Of course, I never tell these psychiatrists, of which there have been many, about who I was or who the victims were, I just say that I've "experienced something extremely traumatic".

The good thing about psychiatrists is that they don't make you talk if you don't want to.

However, none of mine last for long, probably impatient with my lack of detail.

So I'm just going down the list in the phone book. Tomorrow will be my first appointment with DeVito.

I give him a week.

Sitting down to sort through the important stuff in the mail, I change the TV channel. Mail usually comes early, so I'm surprised to see that the six o'clock news is just starting.

Since I daydreamed- or, rather, daymared- my way through lunch, I figure an early dinner will do, followed by an early bedtime.

I heat up some leftover takeout and settle in to watch the news while I eat.

When the news is over, I throw away the rest of my food.

I shower, change, brush my teeth, and climb into bed.

* * *

><p>At twelve thirty, I am awakened by a loud noise coming from outside.<p>

Walking to the front door, my bare feet seem to turn to ice on the cold tile. I turn the knob and the door flies open with a huge gust of wind. I'm pummeled by the rain from outside. Shutting the door quickly, I backtrack, slide on the huge puddle the rain made by the door, and make my way back to my room. Not bothering to change, I climb into bed.

* * *

><p>At about three thirty, I wake up sneezing and coughing, and I can barely stand up, I'm so dizzy.<p>

I figure I better call DeVito's office now, tell them I won't be able to come in tomorrow. They are open twenty-four hours.

I call the number, and a woman who introduces herself as Shirley answers.

I give her my information so she can look me up on the database.

"And what can I do for you?"

"Um," I say, "I won't be able to make it in to my appointment tomorrow. Can I reschedule?"

There's the click of typing on the other end, then; "You don't have an appointment tomorrow."

I'm dumbfounded. "What? But I got a letter today with the information."

"We don't send postal notices here."

I'm frozen. I got a letter, though. The information was right there. My name, and tomorrow's, no, technically today's date.

Wait. What?

My name and a-

Oh, no.

I hang up the phone and run to the door, nearly slipping and falling on the puddle. I reach the door, placing one foot on the soggy welcome mat inside. My foot is sucked down, stuck.

As I try to pull it out, a kind of voice says in my head;

_Don't bother checking the door._

_It's already inside._

Looking through the peephole, I see that the storm is still raging. It would be impossible to go anywhere.

I close my eyes and turn around, leaning against the door. Then, I open them, and slowly start to walk back to my room, but I can't make my legs move any faster. Maybe, if I could reach the phone, I could call for help, call someone-

But it's no use. I know that.

Really, I shouldn't even have closed my eyes.

Because, maybe, if I hadn't, I would've seen the shadowy figure standing by the door.

* * *

><p>AN: That's it.

I'm done.

If you want answers, you're not getting any. The whole point of this story and "The List" was to let most of it be up to the reader's interpretation.

So.

Review!


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